Surrender Page 11

  I nod, realizing that I’ve gone from prickling anxiety to melted chocolate in the space of a few moments. “It’s super close to the gym, and we can cross-promote.”

  “Cross-promote? So, here, have a pizza and then go work it off at the gym? Probably exactly what I need,” he chuckles, patting his belly with one hand while squishing me into him a little more closely with the other.

  “Don’t say that.” Without thinking, I slip my hand under his button-down and rub his warm belly as I look into his eyes. “You’re perfect.” My voice goes breathy and gravelly at once as the reaction of touching his belly lights up my arm and pulls a moan from deep within his chest.

  He inhales sharply and grabs my arm, then pushes his nose into my hair, breathing me in on another little moan. “I think you’re perfect, too.”

  We sway in union with the chilly breeze sweeping through the lot. I close my eyes, my head still on his chest, and my heart speeds up when his fingers lightly touch my jaw.

  “Jake?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  I close my eyes as he tilts my face up and his soft, full lips kiss first my hairline, then my jawline, then my nose.

  “Jake, open your eyes, darling.”

  I do as asked and find his smile, which I return.

  The words fall out of his mouth, slowly. “I have waited almost an entire year to do this.”

  After a small hesitation, he palms the back of my head and pulls me into a kiss. A simple, easy, mind-bending, heart-stopping, sweet-and-dirty kiss. Fuck, his lips are soft and insistent against mine, and the pull… the pull is perfect. I melt so fully into him that… fuck me, I don’t know where I was going with that sentence. I give way and he deepens the kiss and my everything is a puddle in an East Austin lot.

  I arch up, pushing against him as he devours me. We kiss like that until someone sends out a wolf whistle from a passing car. I flinch a little at the sound, and he pulls back, checking in on me. The affection and patience in his eyes make it almost hard to breathe. My eyes fall to his lips, and his smile says that this was inevitable. His words are another matter entirely.

  “I think that that is enough for tonight.”

  My mouth falls open, speechless, save for a small whimper.

  He smiles broadly at my wordless protest and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Come, Jake. Let’s walk you to your truck. I’ve already called Scout, and she agrees with me—we know you want to push yourself, but no more late-night property surveys. It’s not safe.”

  The cracked concrete and gravel and dead leaves crunch under our feet as he walks me to my truck. He opens the door for me, smiling broadly. “Sleep well, Jake.”

  “B-b-but…”

  He places his hand on my lower back and kisses my temple as he guides me into the seat. “This is not the place, Jake.”

  A squeak of protest gets stuck in the back of my throat and dies.

  He closes the door, and I gape at him through the glass. He winks and touches his fingertips to his lips and then to the glass.

  As Evie would say, son of a biscuit.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jake

  “Motherfucker.” I’d been hoping that my wallet and phone were at the gym, but no joy. I’ve searched my apartment, my car, my coat, the oil and gas office, and the county clerk’s office. It means that it’s either dropped out of my pocket or got nicked when I wasn’t paying attention. I have been an unfocused mess all day long, and the impossibly tall man who just pulled up in his huge SUV is the reason.

  “Motherfucker is so very American, mon amour.”

  “Jesus Christ, Jean-Pierre. Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I grit through my teeth, managing to feel both annoyed and awkward. And desperately horny? Evie told me that Scout had kissed her early on, and then it was weeks before they actually got involved with each other. Fuck, I don’t wanna wait weeks to kiss him again, I whine to myself. I mean, last night’s kiss means we’re moving in some kind of direction, but I might just lose my goddamned mind if he wants to go that slow.

  Jean-Pierre puts his arm around my shoulder, his eyebrow raised. “You saw me walking up to you.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t see you,” I say, brushing him off… while snuggling in against him.

  He gestures at his considerable height, as if to say how did you miss all of this? and then asks, “Mon amour, why are you so prickly right now?”

  My reply is incomplete and pretty damned pouty. “I lost my wallet, and it had my chip in it.”

  “Chip? Like a potato chip?” he asks, taking liberties with the placement of his hand at the top curve of my ass. Okay, he might not wait three months to kiss me again.

  I shake my head and try very hard not to smile. He is also not going to let me get away with a bad attitude this evening. “Chip, as in two years of sobriety.”

  Jean-Pierre’s eyes track my posture, and then he checks his watch. “Oh, yes. Your AA coin. It’s a good thing I saw these lying on the counter at the gym, then,” he says, producing my wallet and phone from his coat pocket.

  Wordlessly I accept my things and slide them into my coat pocket, then kiss him as I slide back into our hug. I was going for a peck, but Jean-Pierre holds me and takes over the kiss, rendering me practically brain-dead. Seriously, just sign over my organs right now.

  I lean back from the embrace. “Jean-Pierre, did you… did you come up here just to give me my things?”

  His smile could power a city. “Maybe.”

  I put my forehead on his chest and smile where he can’t see me. “You are going to be the death of me.”

  “That’s unfortunate. Perhaps instead of death, you can come out to the dinner with me and Lucas tonight.”

  When he says “dinner,” he means the annual Texas Exes charity ball, which is a major media event in the Austin area. With all of the kissing, I hadn’t registered what he is wearing. He’s dressed in an ombre black-and-burnt-orange brocade suit, and his watch is a classic gold Rolex that perfectly fits his wrist with a diamond-rimmed face. This watch? Makes his expensive sports watch look like a Swatch watch from the ’90s. I roll my eyes because he’s wearing a pair of leather Berluttis to finish off the outfit, and that’s just bragging.

  “Wait, is Lucas the new guy? Roly said y’all scared him off with gay talk when you went to Bangers. Without me.”

  “Are you jealous of my boy time?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair. I shake my head, a smirk on my lips. “He’s a nice guy, Jake, I promise. Please, join us.”

  I snort, then gesture up and down his tall, powerful frame. “With you looking like that? I’m not imagining it—that is a Joshua Kane original that you’re wearing?”

  His smile is small but proud. Fingering the buttons on his immaculately tailored waistcoat, he gives a brief nod.

  “The suit, watch, shoes—none of it off-the-rack, right?”

  He bites his lower lip and looks at me with those expressive eyes of his, lined with gold, as they have been with more frequency over the last several weeks.

  I roll my eyes and pull my wool coat around me a little more tightly. “Thought so. No way I’d show up in my nu-goth chic and the boots I bought last year from Macy’s. I’d look like a Dickensian orphan compared to you. Even if I didn’t have to help Scout set up for this neighborhood meeting tonight, no thank you.”

  He shoulders me, unintentionally knocking me off-balance, then puts his hands on me to prevent the fall. It excites and irritates me. I’m perfectly safe; there’s no need for that prickly nonsense. It’s just Jean-Pierre Sehene. Basketball legend, fashion icon, fantastic kisser, and solid wall of fuckable man. “Come on, Jake. Evie says you have a closet full of fancy suits. Let’s grab one and head over.”

  I hesitate, running my hand over the scruff on my cheeks. I don’t think he understands that this is dangerously close to a date. Given the heat from our two brain-melting kisses and the way our hugs resem
ble a giant squid hugging a pirate ship, I’m pretty sure the media will be all over us pretty much immediately.

  I’d like you to know that eighteen-year-old me hates thirty-two-year-old me so hard right now.

  “Yes, I have plenty of nice suits.”

  Jean-Pierre smiles, triumphant, but I hold out my hand. “I’m out in the community. I work for an out athlete. You take me to this dinner and people will begin to talk about you in that way. Besides, I promised Scout I’d help her tonight.”

  His face says everything. He takes in my entire body, deliberately, slowly, and smiles. “I’m going to a charity event in a brocade suit, Jake. I’m wearing gold eyeliner. I don’t care about gossip, and neither should you. We’re going. Scout will understand. And I won’t drink.”

  I appreciate his support with my sobriety, even if it rankles that he’s familiar with my issues. We’re saved from mortal awkward by Scout’s ringtone.

  I shrug my apology and put Scout on speakerphone. “What’s up, boss?”

  “Change of plans. The meeting with the community leaders has been canceled, something about one of the council members getting food poisoning. Instead, Evie and I are going to meet Jean-Pierre at the dinner.”

  His taunting smile lights up his face. “Hey, Scout, my friend! That is awesome news. Bet you won’t look as sharp as I do.”

  “Jean-Pierre, you clothes whore. Nobody looks as good as you do.”

  “I don’t know, baby. You’re pretty fucking hot in this suit of yours,” says my sister, from somewhere else in the room. “Might have to cut short the evening, and—”

  I groan. “Gross, Evie! You’re on speakerphone.”

  Evie’s cackle filters through the speaker, and I can’t help but smile. They are so good together.

  He leans in over my shoulder, smelling like expensive sex. “Scout, your timing is perfect. I told Jake to come with us.”

  “I dunno,” chirps Scout. “Jake, do you even own anything that wouldn’t peg you as an extra in Oliver Twist?”

  See? I mouth to Jean-Pierre, whose closeness and deep chuckle warm my stomach. I need an encore of last night before my brain goes into nuclear meltdown.

  “I know for a fact that I have seen Jake quite fashionable, and I trust his taste implicitly. We are going to his condo right now and will pick something out. We’ll be there a little late, but we’ll be there in style.” His tone isn’t pushy, exactly, but it doesn’t brook debate.

  Damn, that’s hot.

  “You know, he’s right, Jake. You’re becoming a big part of my organization, and part of that is going to these events while making sure that we are well branded. I’m sure you have something that will perfectly encapsulate your Severus Snape aesthetic in evening form.”

  I know from Jean-Pierre’s expectant smile alone that within the hour I’ll be at a formal dinner, trying not to pop a boner next to this man who simply should not be allowed to exist amongst us mere mortals.

  “Fine. I’ll go, but I don’t have to like it.”

  Scout laughs. “Jake, you skipped my brother’s charity ball. We are under no illusion that you would enjoy anything of the sort. I’m glad that at least Jean-Pierre can entice you to leave the house.”

  I grumble some more, and we say our goodbyes. When I hang up, his smile is almost a leer, and he pulls me in tight, smelling my hair, exploring my ass with his possessive hands as he kisses me breathless. Okay, fine. I might possibly, actually be looking forward to going. Maybe.

  After a moment of groping each other, I stand back from him, just so that we don’t end up fucking on the asphalt. “I can’t believe I’m going to this snoozefest with you.”

  “I don’t see why,” he says, grinning as he pushes back a stray hair, which nets a scowl. “I am pretty persuasive.”

  Eighteen-year-old me loves being persuaded by Jean-Pierre. Thirty-two-year-old me is excited and only slightly wary.

  “Whatever,” I say, making my way to my truck. I smell him on my coat and identify his intoxicating scent—neroli with a hint of vetiver.

  He smiles wickedly as he calls out, “You can scowl at that all you want, but under that hérisson exterior is a man who wants to go out on the town and live it up. I promise you.”

  “Even if I am a hedgehog, I can think of several things more enticing than going to a rubber chicken dinner, Sehene,” I tease as I hop up into my truck.

  He smiles. “Maybe, but I promise to make it worth your while.”

  I grunt, repressing a smile.

  There’s still the exceedingly high possibility that I’m going to hate it, but it’ll be worth it just to be near him.

  Jean-Pierre

  I follow Jake to his condo so that he can take a quick shower and drive in with me. Scout’s been paying him to update the place on his downtime, and the small kitchen is beautifully appointed, and the floors are nice and new. Like before, the eclectic mix of materials and photographs and pencil drawings piques my interest.

  The newer piece above his couch captures my eye as much as it did the first time I saw it. It is a mosaic of magazine pages, and up close the individual cutouts are exquisite and funny and touching pictures of people from all walks of life wearing mostly yellow and or black. From farther away, it is a picture of a large sun swirling in the darkness and beauty of space.

  He truly is an artist, and I can’t imagine why he is not spending his time doing this.

  I walk down the hallway, following the art into Jake’s room. It had been dark and emotional when I was here last, and I’ll admit… curiosity gets the better of me. All comparisons to street urchins aside, he is a fantastic dresser, and the artistic flair and careful precision with which he puts together his clothing simply cannot be taught. That he does this with an all-black and gray palette is genius.

  I pull aside the closet doors, and the half-light reveals only a wall of black, one article of clothing indistinguishable from the next. Fumbling around, I find a switch and flip on the overhead fixture. Breath escapes me, and I am astonished by the textures and fabrics and sheens that pop out at me, all fastidiously hung in a hierarchy of casual to formal. I run my fingers across the pieces of clothing, pausing briefly at a black leather harness tagged with a gray handkerchief. Definitely not vanilla. My pants tighten at the sight of it, my most carefully hidden desires flourishing under the promise of experience.

  I swallow and continue perusing the myriad bespoke pieces, though my eyes go back to the harness again and again. Even the store-bought items appear to have been tailored, given extra flourish and distress. When my practiced hands land on fine suit material, I pause. What does he have here?

  It’s Dries Von Noton in black-on-black plaid, which means that Tommy sewed this for him personally. I recognize the long, almost duster-length suit jacket, the pants detailed with a pleated skirt panel, and a vest fitted to within an inch of its life. I imagine a very chic party at which he was spying on a dangerous criminal organization, and I start to wonder if he’d consider role play.

  “What are you doing?” Jake’s question is careful, and I spin around with the Von Noton in my hands.

  “You must, must, must wear this. It is stunning.” My voice cracks on the last word because Jake is wearing only a towel, knotted loosely around his narrow waist. His pale skin is incandescent against a black-and-gray tattoo of a tree that that follows his strong, spare body from the gnarled roots at his hip, to the trunk of the tree wrapping around his ribs, to the reaching branches that decorate his shoulder blade. Beads of water dot the artwork, and I want desperately to lick them off him.

  Reaching out to feel the fabric, he responds, “I don’t think that this is the kind of event for that. I think Scout wants me to wear a regular suit.”

  I blink a few extra times and send up a quick prayer of thanks for dinner jackets that cover raging hard-ons. “I don’t care what my friend wants you to wear. You are going to put this on, and we are going to walk into that room like gods. Where are your dress shi
rts?” I ask, more gruffly than intended. I’m hard as rock, and I turn back to the closet, bracing my hands on the bifold doors. Fuck. I need to gather myself.

  Jake ducks under my arm to pull out a beautiful ebony Yves St. Laurent button-down with black pearl buttons. He turns around and pauses, then relaxes his shoulders and blinks up at me. “I do like your gold eyeliner.”

  I can feel the flush down to my toes and bend my head to let the locs fall and cover my eyes. “Just the thinnest little line.”

  “I’ve seen it on you these last few weeks. It’s nice.” Jake brushes aside my hair. “You’re wearing highlighter.”

  He says it like an accusation, only softer.

  “I like to brag about my cheekbones.” I smile broadly to enhance the effect.

  “Jean-Pierre, I know we’ve been making out, but I want to be clear… this is a date, right?”

  I’ve been working on him slowly but surely, giving him glimpses of me, giving him affection in small doses. Timing it to ask him at exactly the right moment, but knowing how he tastes and what the curve of his ass feels like against the palm of my hand, frankly, has me thrown. I chance a shy smile. “Yes, Jake.”

  Uncertainty resides in his eyes. “I know you’ve seen me go on a lot of dates, but… so are you… is this casual?”

  I lick my lips and let my locs fall across my face, then gently shake my head.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jake

  I’m suddenly very aware of the towel on my hips and the fact that Jean-Pierre has grabbed my shirt and is holding it like a shield. My eighteen-year-old self is about to combust into glitter and happiness.

  No, fuck that, I don’t do glitter and happiness.

  Horny and moody, that I can do. With a little shake of black glitter. Maybe.

  “Jean-Pierre, not that it matters, but have you ever been with a man before?”